After the Honeymoon (30 page)

His slow, steady gaze took in the rest of her body which had, much to her surprise, sprung back into shape after Jack’s birth. Indeed, to look at her flat stomach, you might not think she had ever had a child. ‘Yet I would like to be a father, one day.’

Rosie hadn’t expected that.

He was stroking her stomach now and then his hand moved lower down, making her feel weak inside. ‘I am not asking for an answer now, my Rosie. I simply want you to think about it.’

Think about a baby? Did that include marriage as well? For all his bravado, Greco (like many Greek men) was solidly conventional. Something had fluttered inside Rosie’s chest. Marriage to Greco – was that really such an unexpected idea?

‘I think I might have found a solution here.’

Winston’s clear English voice cut through her thoughts. ‘If we can find a piece of metal that can be twisted round this part, we might be able to link these bits – see what I mean? – and that could, with any luck, get it going.’

Greco gave a very slight, almost imperceptible nod of grudging agreement. ‘Perhaps. I did, in fact, think of that myself.’

Winston raised an eyebrow. Talk about competitive! They were as bad as each other.

‘I have some fishing hooks down below,’ Greco announced coolly.

‘Great. That might do the trick.’

There was an awkward silence while Greco was gone. She ought to talk to Winston, Rosie told herself. After all, she was his hostess. But what if he asked her more questions about her past? He’d really spooked her out earlier.

‘How do you know so much about engines?’ she asked politely.

He shrugged. ‘The Royal Marines. Our training covered quite a lot of ground.’ Then his eyes fixed on hers. ‘You said earlier that you came from the South-West. I trained in Plymouth. Did you live near there?’

Yes, she wanted to say. Of course I did, you idiot. Don’t you remember me at all? But the words faded on her lips just as Greco came striding up the steps, triumphantly waving a clutch of fish hooks and a strip of rubber. ‘This might do,’ he said with a look at Rosie which could clearly be translated as,
See, I’m just as capable as this old flame of yours.

There was a small crowd around them now, watching the two men as they knelt down, side by side, twisting bits of metal. It was almost like a race. Greco was making the sorts of noises she could remember her father making when he’d tinkered with the car at home. But Winston was working steadily and silently.

It was difficult not to admire him.

‘If anyone can fix it, Winston can,’ Melissa was saying proudly. ‘Don’t worry, Emma. I’m sure you’ll be back in time to get the flight.’

There was a little whimper. ‘But Tom will be so worried.’

So would everyone else on the island! A missing fishing boat was nothing short of a world-wide alert in Siphalonia. Poor Cara would be scared witless, Rosie suddenly realised. Hadn’t she already lost one daughter at sea?

‘Greco knows what he is doing,’ she said meaningfully, partly to support him and partly to try and calm herself. ‘Besides, I am sure that someone from the mainland will come out to find us.’

As she spoke, there was a splutter from the engine followed by another. Then a whirring noise which stopped almost as soon as it started. Rosie’s heart sank. Then, to her huge relief, it began again. Hesitant at first and then growing increasingly confident.

The Frenchman began to clap, even though his arms were firmly around his wife (did those two ever take their hands off each other?). Someone else followed suit and Emma exhaled a huge sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness for that.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

Rosie’s eyes slid across to the beach where Jack and Alice had been sitting, talking, for the last hour or so.

Sweet. Yet at the same time, dangerous. What if Jack made the same mistake as she had and went too far?

‘Come on, you two.’ She waved furiously. ‘Quick! They’ve got the engine started.’

Greco took a mock bow as she spoke, making Rosie wince. After everything she’d thought about leopards changing their spots, this arrogant gesture made him look vain in front of Winston, who was nonchalantly returning to Melissa’s side.

‘Well done,’ Melissa said quietly.

Winston nodded. ‘Team effort.’ He looked down at Freddie, who had fallen asleep next to his wife. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘And night,’ added Melissa, frowning, looking at Alice as she came aboard. ‘Sit with us, can you, darling?’

The girl scowled. ‘I’ll sit where I like.’

‘Don’t be rude to your mother.’

Rosie started at Winston’s heavy-handed reproach, which reminded her of Dad. Yes, the girl had been rude, but Rosie couldn’t help feeling a sneaking sympathy. It couldn’t be easy having a stepfather. Supposing Greco started getting heavy-handed with Jack?

Darkness was falling, but the
Siphalonian
was now making steady progress across the bay. The wind was helping too. Lights were on, she could see, glimmering on the water. Were they from the houses, or were some of the fishermen coming out to find them? Oh my God! There was a little dinghy! She recognised it as belonging to Greco’s uncle.

‘Are you all right, nephew?’ a voice yelled out.

‘The engine broke! But all is well. I fixed it.’

That wasn’t fair. ‘Along with one of our guests,’ Rosie added in Greek.

Greco visibly bristled. ‘It is clear whose side you are on.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she retorted, taking care not to use English so as not to embarrass Greco in front of Winston. ‘I just don’t like it when someone takes all the credit instead of sharing it.’

For a minute, they looked at each other challengingly. Don’t look away, Rosie told herself sternly. This is important.

Eventually, Greco shrugged. ‘You are right.’ Then he called back to his uncle. ‘The English helped. Perhaps they are not quite so useless after all.’

There was a loud chuckle.

Rosie nodded her approval. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

Greco looked pleased. ‘In fact, he saved a boy from the seas,’ he called out. ‘We have many tales to tell.’

So they did. Thank goodness the trip was ending well. It could all have been so different.

Meanwhile, Greco was mooring the boat and helping her guests to make the short jump onto the shore.

‘I don’t know that I can do it,’ Emma was whimpering.

Yannis loomed up from the bottom of the boat as though he had been waiting. ‘I can help you, yes?’

‘Get off me!’ Emma was pushing him away furiously. ‘I don’t want you to touch me.’

Rosie caught her breath. Something had definitely happened there and, if she wasn’t mistaken, she wasn’t the only one to have noticed.

‘It’s all right, Emma,’ Melissa was saying kindly. ‘Winston will carry you, won’t you, darling?’

Suddenly Rosie noticed a commotion on the beach. It wasn’t just curious villagers who had come out to greet them. There were lights flashing – camera lights, she realised.

‘Mr King! Mr King! Can you give me a comment, please, on a story that’s running in today’s newspapers?’

Rosie froze. What was going on?

Winston’s angry voice could be heard clearly from the jetty. ‘I haven’t seen the article yet and I do not wish to be bothered. This is a private holiday.’

The voice – a woman’s voice – cut through the air. ‘Don’t you mean honeymoon? Congratulations, Mrs King, by the way.’

Rosie shone her torch onto the speaker. She was a tall, foxy-looking woman with a confidence that rang out through the night air. ‘Perhaps you would like to give me a quote on your first husband’s allegation that Winston stole you from him.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Melissa’s voice was furious. ‘We were divorced when I met Winston.’

The woman was holding out a microphone. ‘But only just. Your ex-husband claims you were on the rebound. There’s something else I’d like to ask you, too.’

There was a tense silence. The beach was crowded with locals, Rosie saw, gripped by this drama being played out in front of them. It wasn’t every day that the British press descended on Siphalonia.

‘Is there any truth, Mr King,’ said the woman slowly, ‘in the rumours that you have a love child?’

What?
Rosie put a hand to her mouth, in an attempt to suppress the little scream that came out.

There was a gasp from Melissa, followed by a loud laugh from Winston. ‘You people are disgusting, making things up. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Now leave, or else I’ll call the police.’

Even Greco was waving his fist at the journalist and so were many of the others, including Greco’s uncle. Their English might be limited but they understood enough to realise that bad publicity might not be good for the island.

‘Did
you
tell the journalist?’ Rosie demanded furiously as they left them to it and made their way up the beach.

Greco shook his head. ‘Of course not. I would not betray you.’

But he
had
overheard her on the phone to Gemma. Of everyone around them, he was the only one in a position to betray her, possibly out of spite for Winston. Unless it was someone else …

Rosie glanced at Cara, who was waiting at the top of the beach, her shawl flapping in the cool evening breeze. ‘Do you think it was her?’

Greco shook his head. ‘She would not do that.’

‘Then who?’ hissed Rosie urgently. ‘How has someone found out that Winston has a child? And what if someone links him with me?’

He shrugged. Together, as if by unspoken agreement, they searched the beach for Jack. There he was, holding hands with Alice, walking ahead, oblivious to anyone else save the girl he so obviously cared for.

‘He must not know about Winston,’ hissed Rosie again. ‘Otherwise he will never forgive me.’

‘Mustn’t know what?’

She whipped round. Melissa was standing right behind her. The woman’s eyes were flashing.

Rosie felt herself stammering. ‘N-n-nothing.’

‘
Nothing?
’ Mrs King’s voice rang out with fury. ‘I don’t believe you! I want the truth, do you hear? Otherwise I will Twitter and Facebook and do whatever else I can, to make sure that no one else ever visits your villa again. Now
tell
me!’

Zsa Zsa Gabor: the Venice–Simplon Express (first time)

Michael McIntyre: the Maldives

Duke and Duchess of Cambridge: the Seychelles

Reese Witherspoon: Belize

EMMA

Emma stumbled back to the cottage, her heart pounding and head whirling. Not just from what had happened with Yannis, but the other thing too. She hadn’t meant to listen in on the conversation between Melissa and Rosie just now, but she’d reached the top of the beach and then remembered that she’d left her beach bag on the harbour wall.

So she’d come back to get it, only to hear an angry exchange between the two women.

It was difficult to hear the exact details – not that she was trying, of course – but the words ‘Jack’ and ‘Winston’ were clearly audible.

What had happened? Melissa looked terribly upset, and as for Rosie Harrison, she looked as though she had seen a ghost.

Luckily, the bag was still there, so she just grabbed it and walked away as fast as she could. But then, when she got close to the villa, she could hear more raised voices. This time it was Winston and the woman she had seen earlier.

Now, instead of having a notebook poking out of her bag, she had a camera slung round her neck.

‘I won’t have any pictures!’ Winston was yelling. Emma gasped silently as he stepped forward. Surely he wasn’t going to hit the girl? Then she realised he was about to rip the camera from her neck until Greco stepped in, holding him back.

‘No, man,’ he was saying. ‘You will make the situation worse, I think. Let us go. Now.’

Then, even though it had been clear on the boat that Rosie’s Greek boyfriend and Winston didn’t like each other very much, Greco put his arm round Winston’s shoulders and was virtually pulling him away as the girl took snap after snap.

Emma only hoped that she wasn’t in one of the pictures. She was in enough trouble as it was.

Wrapping her jumper around herself, even though it wasn’t that cold, she began to shake as she picked her way across the strange tough grass, towards the cottage.

God, how she hated herself! How could she have been so horribly stupid? She’d vowed to herself that she wouldn’t drink on the boat trip and now she’d done something that could never be undone. Something that made her feel dirty, through and through.

Stumbling over a sharp stone, she began to cry silently – and not just because it had stubbed her toe. ‘You’ve been married for one week,’ she told herself, ‘and already you’ve been unfaithful.’

Even as she said the words, they felt unreal, as though the situation belonged to someone else. Now she was no better than her father. Why had she done it? Because she’d had cold feet about getting married; had been flattered by another man’s attentions; and had had too much to drink.

As for Yannis – she could hardly bear to say his name – she must have been mad. When he’d given her that smug, satisfied smile at the end of the evening, she had felt nothing but loathing for him. Very different from the lust (there was no other word for it) that had taken her over earlier, almost like a body-snatcher.

She was despicable. But then again, so was he.

Creeping into the bungalow, Emma braced herself. It was past midnight but Tom would still be up. He would be pacing the floor, worried out of his mind because she was so late. He might even, she told herself, as her hand shook on the bedroom door, be outside, looking for her. Or …

Her heart almost stopped as she took in the snoring mound on the bed. Tom was fast asleep. He wasn’t worried that she hadn’t come back from what was meant to be a ‘day trip’. Or if he was, it wasn’t enough to keep him awake.

Tiptoeing into the bathroom, Emma held the shower against her body for as long as she dared, in case the noise of the water woke her husband. Wash it away, she whispered to herself. Make me clean.

But when the warm water turned to cold, she still felt as dirty as ever. Desperately, she rubbed her thighs with the towel. If only she could turn back the clock! She would never have gone on the stupid boat trip. Would never have taken that drink which Yannis had offered to ‘steady her nerves’.